It was a difficult subject.
There had been an engagement, years ago, a queen-in-waiting… And then she’d gone on a diplomatic mission to Nocturne. Her ship had gone down in the middle of the Loral Sea, and her body had never been recovered.
Deven’s lack of a queen was another reason some of their subjects doubted his ability to rule. Some still thought that queen might be alive somewhere, despite Deven’s insistence that their bond told him otherwise. Others thought foul play had been involved in her death, and that their king should have started a war to avenge it. But Deven was not the type to do anything of the sort; whatever wars he was fighting, he kept them to himself. Only Tarron saw his suffering.
And even then, it was only occasional glimpses of it.
“What does it matter, anyhow?” Tarron asked. “I won’t be alone—because weren’t you telling me just the other day that you don’t plan on dying anytime soon?”
“I still don’t.” The king’s tone was nonchalant, but his eyes were glazed and distant.
Silence again stretched between them, deep and uncertain now.
“That episode in the garden the other evening has to have worried you,” Tarron finally ventured.
And for once, Deven didn’t brush the concern aside.
“You haven’t had an episode like that since…”
“Since the night of those shade beast sightings,” Deven finished.
It had been three years since that night, and their court still did not entirely understand what had happened during it. They only agreed that there had been powerful magic involved, dark energies that had killed two of their kind and also caused Deven’s strange ailment to flare to a nearly fatal point.
Many believed that a member of the rival Shadow Court had somehow slipped into their ranks, and that they had used their dark magic to reawaken the remnants of the gray belephor beast that had killed the former king and his queen. The true belephor did not reappear, but those reanimated pieces of it—umbrae, some called them— were enough to wreak plenty of havoc.
Several claimed to have seen those smaller beasts, and for weeks afterwards, accusations flew. Every other being in Solturne was suddenly a potential spy for the Shadow Court, or hiding Shadow magic themselves.
But in the end, they uncovered no concrete evidence, and to accuse that rival court of such atrocities without evidence would have resulted in broken treaties and all-out war.
So the incident lingered, unsolved, like a bruise that refused to heal.
But if it was happening again…
“Back to the matter of yourindependence,” Deven began, and Tarron rolled his eyes, because here came the change of subject.
The king continued, undeterred: “It’s been three days. Are you keeping track? Some members of the council are getting…antsy. They don’t want you to beindependent. They want a wedding.”
“Let them get antsy.”
Deven shook his head. “If the marriage—and your feelings—matter as little to you as you claim, then why not just get it over with? Surely it’s just a matter of business? And I’ve never known you to dawdle when it came to business. The preparations have all been made. The court is simply waiting for you to say the wordgo.”
Tarron shifted uncomfortably in his seat but said nothing.
The king lifted his gaze to the sky, appeared to lose himself in thought for a moment, and then he said, “She still isn’t showing much affection toward you, I’m guessing?”
“No. Can you blame her?”
Deven cut his eyes back to his little brother, smiling again.
Tarron grimaced. “Why are you grinning at me like that?”
“Because,” said the king—and that was all he said, no matter how hard Tarron glared at him.
“You’re incredibly annoying,” said Tarron, sinking deeper into his chair and closing his eyes. The headache was officially here, now.
Deven dropped into the chair across from him; the sound of its feet scraping across the stone tile was cringe-inducing. “You might not care aboutyourfeelings, but is there a chance you’re starting to care about hers? And perhaps you don’t want to rush her?”
Tarron yawned.
